A Dream

To say that I adored the woman in the yellow dress is a bit direct in nature. I loved her, and I loved her flaws. I loved her facelessness, and her aura. I loved that she probably cracked her knuckles, or swore too much. I took all of it at once, like an addict ingesting all his cocaine at once. My heart could and would explode, but no matter. I loved her, and that’s all there was to it.

I knew that I was in my bed with my eyes closed. I knew that the sunlight was bound to hit my face and break me of the spell of sleep at some point, but I submerged myself in my time with her. I despised the time that was misused, the time awake, or the time spent chasing others in a dream. That time wore me down like the soul of a shoe. It was beaten, defeated. That time wore a hole straight through me, and it would make me vomit and go insane from merely thinking about it.

Time, the woman in the yellow dress taught me, was the only thing that existed. Time was the primary giver and taker of the soul’s energies. Spend time in madness and you’re madder for it, spend time in or away from love and you find another madness. The woman in the yellow dress, faceless though she was, was my ideal. She was everything, because she wasn’t pure. Her flaws made me love her even more.

The woman in the yellow dress often would talk about how she hated herself, how she had one feature or another that she despised. How her skin would crack, or her voice would go out on her. Or that her eyes would drift off and lack focus when she got tired. She said how she could do nothing right, but in the imperfection, I found perfection. I didn’t want to change her, just exist with her. That’s all I needed.

I knew that the woman in the yellow dress had been through a lot. She pushed me away like magnets on the same polarity, and that energy made me love her all the more. I imagined, if I could stop her for a moment, how we could stare at the sky and lose our minds together, but I could never catch up to her.

One of the worst feelings, is knowing that you, on your own, may be crazy. It’s as if someone told you to stop craving water or air, yet you go on breathing and drinking. It’s simple to say no to such things, but much harder to implement that lacking feeling into your life. What problem or difference does it make to the air or water if I still crave it? If I feel the need to protect it by planting trees or skimming the lakes, then what is the problem? The water has chosen not to drown me, and the air has chosen not to choke me, but my energies, as they are my own, can be spent however I see fit. If I want to long to be drowned, then allow me that dream.

A dream within a dream. I knew that the woman in the yellow dress was in that world. I knew that she existed, and it was my dream and goal to find her in that, or any world. I remember the faintest hint of perfume that would trail after her as she walked by. I remember the sun hat she wore on occasion, or the scowl that she would show when she was under stress. My God, I’ve prayed for and of only that.

It’s a drunken feeling to adore someone, more so if they should ever decide to placate you by reciprocating that love. If they requite your love, mountains collapse. The entire world gains promise and meaning, but when they tell you no, it’s as if someone has hit you in the head with a wine bottle. You see stars, and you’re left without breath. It all feels like some dream, a trauma that no one should experience.

I could feel my lungs taking in air meaninglessly. I could sense the senses of life coming to again. This was problematic, as I would rather stay a lifetime asleep and touching her in dream, than spend a lifetime richly awake and longing for her. I wonder if she knew, or considered me at all. I wonder if she would rather put a pillow over my face or if she’d just as soon walk away. Breathing. In. Out. In Out. The air tasted like garbage again.